butterfly effect, tom riddle

26. | past

The next morning, I awoke to the sight of a deserted dormitory. I had come to the common room late that night, having spent the remainder of my evening after that talk with Tom strolling through the vacant dungeons, mulling over everything.

Norma and I never got the chance to continue our discussion; when I came, she was already asleep. And in the morning, she—along with the rest of my roommates—had left for the train.

I wondered what would become of our friendship. Obviously, I wished to become friends again—but with Tom ruling over every one of my decisions, the idea was becoming quite unfathomable. I reminded myself that I hadn't come this far in order to make friends; I came this far to steer Tom Riddle away from his dark deeds and to save my mother from the cruel fate she would have to face.

The euphoria I felt yesterday from Norma talking to me had diminished in the blink of an eye, and was now replaced by an all-too familiar feeling of dejection. It was all because of Tom, and as much as I wished to curse him into oblivion, I knew I couldn't.

It was rather difficult to get out of bed that morning, my mind brimming with negative thoughts. But I did it anyway.

I splashed my face with icy water and tucked stray wisps of my hair away from my face with a few black hair-clips. Seeing as there were no classes, I traded my Slytherin uniform for a simple, short-sleeved green dress.

Thoughts of despair clouded my mind as I exited the room, ambling through the girls' dormitories corridor. I pushed them out; perhaps this easter break would give me a chance to brood deeply over my options.

I rounded a corner, now entering the Slytherin common room, which I expected to be empty. To my dismay, it wasn't.

My eyes locked into a pair of obsidian ones, my heart halting. Tom Riddle stood with a courteous smile plastered to his finely-carved face, his jet-black hair hanging atop his forehead in curly waves. Ever the perfect gentleman.

"Tom," I greeted, stepping forwards gingerly as I observed his charismatic expression with slight caution. "What do you want?"

"That isn't quite the warm greeting I expected," Tom spoke pleasantly, his smile growing slightly as a twinkle of merry deceit entered his eyes. "I just wished to escort a dear friend of mine to breakfast."

"Dear friend?" I repeated, blinking in bemusement. "But—but don't you hate me?"

"On the contrary, my dear Viviette," Tom disagreed, his smile broadening into a wily grin. "I find you more fascinating than ever."

My brows knitted in bafflement, and I felt my heartbeats quicken in fear at the cunning gleam in his sable black eyes. His face remained as smooth and charismatic as ever, everything in his expression willing me to trust him—except for the slyness in his gaze.

"Is that so?" I asked impassively, eyeing him with definite distrust. "I thought you said I'd lost your trust."

"Oh, you did," Tom confirmed amicably. "But along with that, you've made me even more interested in you than before. I don't have to hide things from you anymore, Viviette—you will make a perfect...friend."

A perfect friend—in other words, a perfect servant.

I contemplated his words thoroughly, uncertain of what to respond with. If I replied too readily, I'd make him skeptical of my motives—if I questioned him, it would probably make me seem more honest.

"And what makes you think that I'd want to assist you in any of your plans?" I demanded coldly, tilting my chin upwards in a dignified manner. "After the way you acted yesterday?"